Fifty Years
by Confuzzler
Summary: Angsty fic about Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley's fiftith anniversary. One-shot.


Fifty years. Fifty. Eighteen thousand, two hundred and fifty days. That was a long time. It had been fifty years since she had married Harry Potter. She was sixty-eight now.  
  
They had married young, sure. But then, the Potters had that habit, didn't they? Those black-, messy-haired boys with their glasses. She had seen pictures of James, and she had to admit that he was just as good-looking as Harry.  
  
And then there were the redheads. Lily, and her. They looked very similar too. She couldn't help but wonder if Lily was a Weasley too, a distant cousin, perhaps.  
  
And every day, she had that familiar ache in her heart. It seemed sacrifice also ran in the family. Ha! She had broken that tradition quickly. No. She shook her head, clearing that line of thought from her mind. Not today.  
  
Harry. He had defeated Voldemort, in the end. Yes, Voldemort. She wasn't afraid to say his name any more. After all, even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was mortal in the end. Voldemort's greed, and utter hatred of Harry, had in the end been his downfall. Using Harry's blood had made him mortal. And as long as Harry remained mortal, so would Voldemort. Nothing could change that.  
  
Of course, Tom wasn't informed of this fact. No one had known. Hermione, working almost nonstop after the incident, had reached that conclusion. She had then collapsed. Ginny gave a short, derisive laugh. Hermione hadn't slept in the two weeks she had put to researching it. Of course, a lot of it was Harry's natural power, which was quite great, and his developed resistance to all of Voldemort's attacks.  
  
Fifty years ago, she had married Harry. She was with child, his child, of course. She was due two weeks after the wedding. Fifty years ago exactly, she had married Harry James Potter. And fifty years exactly, Harry James Potter had died.  
  
Voldemort, that bastard, had attacked on her wedding day. Her wedding day. Just a few minutes after she had said, "I do." A few minutes after she had prepared to begin the rest of her life.  
  
Harry ended the traditional kiss, catching his breath, while the guests applauded or ooh'ed and ahh'ed. Ron, typically, let out a loud wolf whistle, while Hermione glared at him from the bridesmaids' side. Then, Moody stood up, knocking over his chair, and yelled, "Death Eaters!!!"  
  
Harry had immediately gotten in front of her, shielding her with his body. He quickly whispered, "I love you. Always remember that," before grabbing his wand and crouching in his much-practiced duelling stance. None of the Death Eaters had cast a single curse, but none of the guests could move.  
  
The Death Eaters parted, revealing a pale man with red eyes and a snake- like face. Voldemort. She had wanted to cry out, but her throat wasn't working. Almost in slow motion, she watched his wand come out of his sleeve, pointed at her. "Avada-"  
  
Harry was fighting! He was running, you could tell, but it looked as if he was running through mud. Just as he got in front of her, "Kedavra." But the spell reflected. Half of it hit Harry, and half must have bounced off the instinctive shields Harry and Ginny had erected. They were both extremely strong- but Ginny had never used her magic again, after that day.  
  
In the end, Harry and Voldemort were dead. Ginny collapsed on her new husband, crying for almost 5 hours until Hermione had finally Stunned her, taken off her wonderful dress, and put her into a warm bed before force- feeding her a sleeping potion.  
  
The Death Eaters had been rounded up- every single one of them. After all, there were literally thousands of people at Harry Potter's wedding. And once Voldemort had died, the shock, combined with his freezing spell ending, had enabled the white hats to round them up without too much fuss.  
  
But Harry was dead. Saving her life. And her baby.  
  
The baby was born three days later. Early, they said, because of the shock. Ginny smothered her with a pillow a day later.  
  
When Molly had heard, she had fainted. Then she was over at Azkaban, asking if there was anything she could do for her only daughter. But none of them could do anything. They didn't understand. It was the baby's fault Harry was dead. If the baby wasn't due, they would have had the wedding a month later- in June. She had always wanted a June wedding. But they didn't want the baby to be born out of wedlock.  
  
It was the baby's fault. And why should it be allowed to live when Harry wasn't allowed that?  
  
She had spent forty-nine years and 361 days in Azkaban. Punishment. Her own, self inflicted. She would have died years ago- just stopped living. But she made herself march on. Make that Golden anniversary.  
  
Fifty years of suffering. They had had so little time together! It just wasn't fair.  
  
Ginny Weasley, murderess and Harry Potter's widow, picked up the knife she had kept all those years. Her last words were, "I love you, Harry. Always remember that."  
  
Only Ron, Hermione, and Molly attended her funeral. 


End file.
